- Lynn Garthwaite
He’s Very Nearly Perfect
He’s very nearly perfect
Those pearly whites, steady income.
That charm and humor.
I may have finally landed the prize in this one.
Everything is great.
Well, except for that rat-nasty dog of his.
The drooling and that smell. Did I just feel a flea on me?
But they say you have to compromise.
When you’ve found a true prize you need to cherish it.
Accept the teensy, tiny little flaws because, after all, you’re
asking someone to accept your tiny little flaws too.
So I’m crazy about this guy …
Except for that rat-nasty dog
And his blood-sucking brother.
Perpetually in between jobs and in need of “a little cash.”
You don’t marry the family, you marry the guy, right?
It’s not fair to judge him by the sloth of his brother,
or the smell of his dog.
I can be bigger than that.
He’s the guy I always pictured as my life’s partner.
I better lock this one down before he gets away.
It’s all good …
Except for that rat-nasty dog.
His blood-sucking brother.
And that suspicious stash of empty whiskey bottles,
Hidden in a cabinet in his garage.
Maybe he collects old whiskey bottles … all of the same brand.
Maybe they were left there by the previous owner.
I’m not even going to look at the date stamp on them to
figure out if they were all bought this year. I’m bigger than that.
And this guy is nice to my girlfriends.
One told me he’s maybe a little TOO nice.
It’s just nice to be with someone who gets along with everybody.
Yep. I’m all in. It’s all good.
Except for that rat-nasty dog.
And his blood-sucking brother.
And that stash of empty whiskey bottles.
And that look he gives my girlfriends just before he
reaches in for a really long, warm, overly familiar hug.
Am I overthinking this? He’s perfect right?
His mother told me he is.
And his mother should know because she knows everything.
About everything.
And reminds you endlessly how right she is.
I wonder how hard it is to change your name and just
slip out of town?
In the dead of night.
—Lynn Garthwaite